


prayer

by paintedpolarbear



Series: Pynch Week 2017 [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Freeform, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedpolarbear/pseuds/paintedpolarbear
Summary: Every minute feels stolen, but Ronan has always taken what he can get.





	prayer

There's nothing in the world that Ronan wouldn't give--no fortune, no future, no Ivy League college or promise of tomorrow--for these handful of moments: a slat of morning sunlight turning a silhouette into a halo. A surreptitious graze of the fingertips that make his skin burn and his head spin. Stolen glances that narrow the world to just this: blue and blue. Sudden laughter that makes them gasp and tear leak from the corners of their eyes. He covets this, immensely. He is greedy and selfish for this.

 

Adam is late for work one morning and Ronan tosses the BMW keys at him without a second thought. _I love you_ tumbles from his mouth before he knows what he's said, and that is not how he thought this was going to happen. He’d planned on some grand gesture, a declaration as perfect and unmistakable as the decision itself. But Adam smiles crookedly on his way out the door and Ronan wonders if this isn’t how it was meant to be after all: no edges, all softness.

 

He’s living on borrowed time with this boy made of Henrietta dirt, stealing minutes destined to end: at the end of the school year, at the end of the summer, at the end of winter break, at the end of college, someday--but undeniably someday. Infinitely unworthy of this holiness he's found, he knows, he knows--this can only end in heartbreak as violent and tragic and awe-inspiring as a meteor. He breathes himself to sleep curled up in warmth and holding on for dear life to this brilliant, doomed comet, desperate for one more moment of the tranquility that he is privileged to feel. It’s all he can do, being dust himself, to open his lungs and let in the starlight, to dare bring himself to climb high enough for one prayer, whispered, breathed, begged-- _ in pulveram reverteris _ , oh, please, please, to dust return.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Pynch Week 2017  
> Day 1: Something Borrowed


End file.
